


A Method to My Madness

by Mama_Qwerty



Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mama_Qwerty/pseuds/Mama_Qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denzel Crocker is crazy. Everyone knows it. Even him. But there's always a reason. Something that pushes an otherwise perfectly normal and healthy person to the brink -- and over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Method to My Madness

**Author's Note:**

> If the title and description sound familiar, it's because I posted this over at FF.net under "qwerty-kitties". Enjoy!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~

Crock-pot. Nutcase. Obsessed.

These are but a few of the more frequent monikers I’ve heard tossed in my general direction throughout my life, and to tell the truth, they don’t even hurt anymore. Because I don’t care what people think about me. Not anymore.

Why on earth should I? They’re all blind to what goes on around them. They don’t see. They don’t know. But I do. Only I seem to see things as they truly are.

Only I seem to realize that **_FAIRIES_** actually exist and are closer than we think.

I will catch one someday, of that I’m sure. I’ve come close a few times, only to have some bizarre occurrence stop me. Dimmsdale seems to be full of bizarre occurrences, especially when Timmy Turner is involved. And most especially when I seem to get too close to uncovering his secret.

And I _will_ uncover his secret one day. To do so will bring me immense satisfaction. I say ‘satisfaction’ because I cannot honestly hope for happiness. Mostly because I cannot honestly remember a time in my life when I truly was happy. How can I hope for a feeling I’m not sure I’ve ever actually experienced in my lifetime?

My life is a constant downward spiral, a black hole from which no light or positive emotion can escape. I recognize this. I also recognize that the whole reason it has turned out this way is because of my obsession with **_FAIRIES_**. I can further concede to the theory that, were I to abandon my pursuit of the erstwhile magical creatures, it is quite possible that my life would improve. Certainly not in Dimmsdale, as my reputation has taken too firm root, but in another city . . . perhaps. Some city where the name ‘Denzel Crocker’ isn’t synonymous with ‘Crack-pot’.

But it will never happen. I cannot change who I am, nor can I simply give up my life’s obsession. I’ve searched for **_FAIRIES_** for as long as I can remember.

My childhood was full of nothing but long, lonely days and even longer lonely nights. I never knew my father and my mother was so busy working her numerous jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads that she was barely ever home to enjoy said food or roof. There were some days I hardly saw her at all.

My only companion during the formative years of my youth was my babysitter, Vic. I think I may have hated him at first, but after a while I grew to admire his abilities to torment others and revel in their unhappiness. I’d never really thought about it much before, but I suppose he was as close to a role model as I had. Kind of ironic, really.

Most of my childhood is actually nothing more than a blur to me now. Sure I remember Vic, and how busy my mother was, but other than that . . . nothing. It’s disconcerting, in all honesty. What kind of child was I in those early years? Was I happy then? I honestly can’t remember. It’s frustrating.

When I was about ten or so, I suddenly became aware of how hostile the town was toward me. This is where everything becomes crystal clear, and the gap in my memory snaps closed with a teeth-shattering ‘CLANG!’. This is when the life I know—as dark and miserable as it is—began.

It was as if I awoke from a dream and reality came forward to slap me across the face just for good measure. The entire town was gathered together, and for the briefest of moments, I felt the lingering effects of some emotion that even now I cannot precisely pinpoint. Sadness? Anger? The closest I can come is some incredible sense of loss, and even that I’m not sure is truly accurate. Had I just lost my father? Is that why I cannot remember anything before that? Traumatic experiences like that can do a number on a person’s psyche, after all. It would be a perfectly sensible and acceptable explanation for my lack of memories.

It is unfortunate, and not the least bit aggravating, that it’s not true.

I know this because the entire town almost immediately transformed into an angry mob, and I highly doubt that turning on a child who had just lost a parent would have seemed like a good idea, even to the easily distracted minds of the citizens of Dimmsdale.

So there I was, a child of ten, the main focus of an angry mob’s hatred. Why? I’m not sure it matters much anymore. Honestly, I’m not sure anyone in town would even remember anymore, if they truly even knew then. Angry mobs tend to work with one mind, and it’s not uncommon for portions of said mob to be a little fuzzy on the details. Who needs details when you’ve got a good supply of anger and hatred spurring you on?

I should know. Hate, bitterness, and anger has kept me going all these years.

Why? Because it’s all I’ve got left.

When the town turned on me all those years ago, I suddenly became aware of a small device in my hands. I had never seen it before, and honestly have no recollection of where I got it, but there were three words written on the back in pencil, in what I immediately recognized as my own handwriting:

_Fairy_

_Godparents_

_Exist_

It was then I knew.

Somehow, I knew.

It was their fault.

The **_FAIRIES_** ruined my life. I didn’t know how, and I still don’t, but I am absolutely positive of this. Some part of me, deep down, tells me that they are responsible for the town turning on me, which in turn is responsible for my current position in life.

How decidedly ironic that these creatures, so famously portrayed as ‘helpful’ entities in all those children’s stories, could so thoroughly and effectively destroy my life.

But destroyed it they have, and it is this knowledge that drives me ever forward. I am blind to all else. The insults of the non-believers fall in deaf ears. The pain I experience from failed plans is easily forgotten. I will hunt them for as long as it takes, following the tiniest shred of evidence in the hope that Fate will finally smile upon me and allow me the briefest moments of happiness. But even that will be a hollow victory, for I doubt I would even recognize that emotion. The **_FAIRIES_** have taken everything from me.

I am _not_ crazy.

**_FAIRIES_** do exist.

I _will_ capture one some day.

I _will_ get my answers.

And they _will_ pay for what they’ve done to me. Oh yes. _They will pay._


End file.
